


Darling you're so pretty it hurts

by gaytypo



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: F/F, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, im sorry these tags are incoherent it's just lesbianism, just crime family presence, other characters mentioned but not worth tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytypo/pseuds/gaytypo
Summary: She’s good at distracting me from all that sometimes. I think she’s always known that I’m in there somewhere thinking about how everything will go wrong. So she’ll change her voice in just the way to get my attention. Maybe she’ll lean closer but not enough to justify a comment. Buddy says something cute or flirtatious or commanding or wretched and my brain does a 180, and my cheeks go redder than her hair, and shameful embarrassing noises come out of my mouth, but god am I thinking of something else by the end of it.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko/Vespa, Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Darling you're so pretty it hurts

**Author's Note:**

> title is just throwing darts at girl in red's discography  
> i really love aurilkay and i have been meaning to write wlw stuff and i had the beginning of this sitting in my folder of wips so i just kinda went for it.  
> OH I forgot Vespa trans but I am rather vague and use the word clit once

Buddy knows how to command a room. It’s a powerful thing: complete control. I’m content to let her be in charge. She drinks it up, too. The attention swirls around her as though the raging sandstorm she was born in halted to acknowledge she arrived. I can see her only like this—my captivating Buddy. Jet talks about her time in the lighthouse, and some of it is right. But other bits, I just can’t picture. My mind rejects the image of anything besides my resolute love-from-another-time woman.

Of course, I’ve known her long before  _ Captain _ Buddy. Before age and radiation started caking onto our limbs. The legendary leader had to be a legendary thief first. She was still overpowering and enchanting, but she’s been able to blend in when necessary. I’ve seen her charm her way into as many pockets as I’ve seen her pick. 

She knows how to turn the dial up. Juno was bitching about the plan, but then she turned all of her attention onto him, and I saw his complaints crumble. I was bitching about Juno; she gave me that not-your-partner not-your-captain look and then  _ I  _ crumbled. 

There’s so many days when I tire of this family arrangement. I didn’t have to go through all that I did just to play house with a gaggle of untrustworthy goons. It’s not like I’m unaware this makes me look like some spoiled child lashing out because Mommy didn’t give me what I wanted. But I can’t shake it. She promised we’d be raging across the stars together until the day we die—and now that we’re both beyond the graves, do our old promises not count? Do they change for the worse? Has Buddy changed?

She’s good at distracting me from all that sometimes. I think she’s always known that I’m in there somewhere thinking about how everything will go wrong. So she’ll change her voice in just the way to get my attention. Maybe she’ll lean closer but not enough to justify a comment. Buddy says something cute or flirtatious or commanding or wretched and my brain does a 180, and my cheeks go redder than her hair, and shameful embarrassing noises come out of my mouth, but god am I thinking of something else by the end of it. Even if that thing is,  _ please, Buddy, not in front of the others. _

I’d like to turn it around. See her stumble for once. But then the days go by as eventful, emphasis on the full, as they do, and we retire to our rooms completely wiped out. 

I’m more stubborn than that, though. She called it perseverance, once, but I hated that. I hate that word. My survival isn’t a passive quality. It’s all spite and blood. So when she’s content calling it tenacity and  _ patience _ , I go on the offensive. 

“It’s a health concern. The crew is running on fumes. If we don’t take a break it’ll be more than a leg giving out. As the doctor on board I can and will demand this. Give the crew a day off. Or I’ll start breaking shit.” Said in the comfort of our quarters.

She gives me that tired look she always has lately. “Oh, dear, I don’t doubt that for a second. When did it come to threats, though? Surely you have more faith in me than this. I’m a reasonable captain. I rotate the crew members duties in accordance to capability and exertion. If you believe any of them are being overworked, I’m sure I can resolve this with them directly.”

“Bud, you aren’t hearing me. I mean a break. For everyone. Including the reasonable Captain Aurinko.” I stare at her, steeling my gaze. I may be stubborn, but she operates in some fourth dimension equivalent of persistence. Whatever driving force kept her on the lighthouse night after night is surely the same powering the expansion of the universe, increasing the distance between stars and planets and past lovers. I can just stare harder, focus less on the deep lines of stress by her eyes and the white lines emerging on her head; I’ll train my eyes right on hers and wait until she blinks first.

After all, some stubborn thieves have stubborn friends to pull them out of the radiation and debt.

“Fine,” she relents.

“Am I hearing things or did  _ you _ just agree to a day off?”

“Don’t be a sore winner about it.”

-

It’s altogether a lazy day. I force her to stay in bed with me for as long as I can. We venture into a quiet kitchen together for a late sort of breakfast and lunch, leftovers of what Jet prepared earlier. I have eggs and she has coffee. She gets drawn into some card games while I escape off into my garden. Time passes quickly in solitude. Then, a day off calls for an early family dinner. I trust that Juno didn’t let Ransom help  _ too much _ in its preparation. Rita wants everyone to do a movie night with her right after we eat. Buddy almost gets out a response, but I’ve got other plans.

“Sorry, Rita. Buddy can’t join you tonight. She’s on strict orders from her doctor. Long night’s sleep.” I grab her hand and start pulling her back towards our room. 

She goes willingly, but with an air of confusion. “I am?”

“You are.”

I think the others call out a few words of goodbye and sleep well. I don’t care to hear it. I’ve got more important things to think about. Buddy switches her hand around so she’s holding onto mine rather than just being led. I love the feeling of her hand in mine. Almost enough to stop me from letting go when we cross into the privacy of our quarters.

Pressing her into the door has several functions. The most obvious and tactile would be shutting the door. The next other reason I do this is so she knows what's going on now. Of course, it’s also about getting closer to her as soon as physically possible. Buddy—my brilliant, beautiful, tactical Buddy—doesn’t need any other indications. She’s surging forward to kiss me just as I hear the settling  _ thump _ of the door against its frame.

As much as I’d love to truly be pinning her there, I’m not wearing my platforms, but she  _ is _ wearing those fucking heels. I settle for wrapping my arms around her neck and pulling her in as close as possible. Which still isn’t enough. I’ll let the stars know when I have enough of Buddy. Her hands roam, considering every groove she can reach as fascinating until she settles on one hand in my hair and the other on my hip.

I’m distracted by the push and pull. For so long, the only thing that breaks us apart is some giggles and gasps. I bite her bottom lip, so she pulls at my hair, and we’re shocked apart for mere seconds until we careen back together.

She kisses her way out— mouth, cheek, jaw— and gets space to breathe. In the warm silence, she glances back down at my lips. “You’re wearing lipstick today,” she observes.

I never really have the presence of mind to cherish these moments. That is, when she says something small and meaningless, that anyone else would disregard, but I’ve known her intimately for so long, and I know what it means. My memories of us are always fresh. I thank the shitty brain I’ve got for managing that. I remember when we were young and learning one another and finding new parts to love. Of course, she scolds me whenever I say goofy shit like that. No, we’re not old with nothing left to discover. 

I kiss her, quick and soft, as I trail down from her lips to her neck. Discovering, not for the first time, the soft gasps in response. She hums contentment and murmurs “good,” and a soft stream of yesses as I bite down and suck. One of our first nights together, I wore lipstick. I’m not usually big on makeup, but we had some heist that called for dressing up. Really, I only know this because she was so infatuated with the smudged marks across her skin accompanying some less temporary ones come morning.

While I spend some time working one of those lasting marks in, her hands find their way beneath my shirt. I hate getting emotional about how Buddy touches me, but wouldn’t anyone under such devoted care? She starts out caressing me like I am something delicate, fingers grazing over the grooves of my ribcage. She doesn’t stop and lament how disgusting this body is. How much of a chore to love I am. It’s always the opposite. She takes her time sweeping across the planes of scarred flesh like she hasn’t felt it before. Like she never tires of me. The way she touches always makes me emotional because it isn’t just ‘like’ and ‘as though’. She touches me with care and love until I believe the intent imbued in every motion.

“Oh, my dear,” she manages after a stifled groan when I bite just a touch too hard. “You know, I love you so, so much.”

“I don’t mind the reminders.” Her hands find my chest beneath my bra before my lips make it back to her neck. Uncontrollably, I gasp. Unrelenting, she circles my nipples and  _ squeezes _ .

While she’s got my attention, her knee comes forward. Buddy is one to grin while I falter. “Honey, let’s move over to the bed before you freeze these lovely tits off.”

“Yeah, please. Now.” I lose track of whether I’m pulling or being pushed but soon enough we’re side by side on the covers, shifting around as shirts come off. “Wait—”

She comes to a full and complete stop, dropping her hands from where she had been pulling apart the clasp of my bra.

“How fucking long have you owned that bralette, Bud?” It’s white and lacy and I only just realized she wore the same one years ago. I remember kissing all around and below it and it’s gotta be the same one.

She laughs, realizing she misunderstood me. “Oh, I don’t know. Likely as long as I’ve known you. I couldn’t be certain. I’ve kept it because I treasure the memories. Can we get back to the kissing, dear?”

I kiss her in answer. Her hands get back to the work of freeing my chest. I consider hers for a second before agreeing we’ve had enough of memory lane, and it’s really better if I can see her tits  _ now. _

It’s not always easy to tell her with words how I feel. Showing appreciation, depth, tenderness—all I have to offer right now is fervor. I can’t just say what it does to my heart when she touches me. I don’t trust myself with that. Conveying the enormity of my love for her, that is. Instead, I kiss her. I kiss every inch of her. There is lipstick across her collar and I spend time taking in her breasts and her belly and she isn’t getting out of this room until I’ve kissed each freckle and stretch mark and scar.

“Vespa, oh, my love, I love you.”

I find her lips again. Kissing her never gets old. Until it does, actually.

“Buddy. Sit on my face. Now.”

She chuckles and gives a “Yes, ma’am” with that confident smile that would imply sarcasm if it weren’t for the betraying darkness on her cheeks. She’s so warm and I can’t help but steal kisses even when it interrupts getting the rest of her clothes off. “Vespa, would you please behave for a second? Or would you rather I not take this off and we stop all proceedings?”

“No, please, I wanna eat you out. I’ll stop.”

That smirk does things to me. I swear she could topple armies with it. She gives me a final kiss before removing the last offending article and pressing me against the pillows.

I’m lucky that Buddy enjoys this part. I could spend hours beneath her, just pressing kisses and marks into her thighs. There’s something about how she squeezes back against my teeth and mumbles about how lovely I look down here that catches me off guard. I grip her legs as though I could bring her any closer without smashing my skull. Maybe it’s the shortness of breath killing brain cells and survival instincts, but I think I’d be okay with that. Some more kissing and biting, deeper and deeper in, and I’m sure Buddy is heartbroken that my lipstick hasn’t lasted to this point. She likes seeing it between her legs almost as much as she likes seeing me there.

I make eye contact (she always gasps at that, I’ve noticed) one last time before redirecting my focus from her thighs. The angle shifts a bit and then I’ve got my mouth on  _ her _ .

“Oh, angel, right there. Right there.”

As fun as it is to tease her, we’ve both earned a little impatience. I want to hear the many sighs and moans that fall from her mouth, and I want to hear them now. Something tells me she’s intent on delivering.

Alternating between swirling around her clit and sucking, I set a pace to make her squeal. My range of motion is limited by her thighs ( _ not _ a complaint), but I know what makes her tick. The praise she has for my tongue is embarrassing, but encouraging. Being like this is relieving, frankly. Even if I had the words to say how much I love her, I wouldn’t be able to say them. Instead I can just show them. I can quicken my pace, change how I bob my head, the direction and pattern of my tongue, make her feel right, then do it again five different ways. 

“Vespa, ah, ah, you’re so wonderful, sugar. Beautiful beneath me. I love your lips. I love you. Gorgeous. I love yo— _ Ahh _ .”

She starts pressing against my movements with a satisfying urgency. I squeeze her thighs tighter. Her eyes are pressed tight as she bounces above me. And fuck, my mind is clear of anything but the noises she’s replaced words with. Each one of those is a new way to say  _ I love you _ . 

With a final noise, from somewhere deep in her throat, she brings her thighs tight, holding my head in place between her so I’m licking through her release until her shaking legs still. Quietly, she dismounts, and repositions herself so she can kiss me. These moments are soft and slow. She kisses deep and we just lie there, thoroughly engrossed in one another.

In the silence, “Would you like me to do you, sweetheart?”

My voice is raw when I respond, “If you want.”

Buddy smiles, earnest and tender, before kissing me again. She takes her time, kissing wherever catches her attention. She keeps returning to my lips, though, every cycle looking into my eyes and saying “I love you.” Still, she makes her way down, fighting with a button on the clothes I never got off before. She kisses every piece of skin she frees, until I am bare before her.

“Sometime this year would be great, babe.”

“Shut it.”

Her lips close over me. Despite my ribbing, she’s going that agonizingly slow and sweet pace. Taking her time with me like it isn’t the thousandth time we’ve shared this moment. Eye contact is a lot easier in our current position, and she hardly looks away. I keep having to close my eyes, faced with the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” I say. I mean it and more. I’m fucking wrecked, just watching the flutter of her eyelashes, the way her hair falls forward as the pace becomes less and less agonizing by the second. Overwhelmed, I throw my elbow over my mouth, biting into it to muffle noises as I press my eyes shut. Then, without needing to be reminded, I remember that she prefers to see and hear me. When I hide under my arms, she can’t. She always says something embarrassing about it. With flushed cheeks, I remember having my wrists tied to the headboard. I push against her, and she gets the idea to speed up again.

I place my hand in her hair; she brings her hand up to my clit. When I pull at her curls, I get a muffled moan in response. From there, really, it’s probably poor phrasing to say I lose my mind. It doesn’t take very long. Buddy doesn’t take any prisoners. After all, when she turns her attention on me, I crumple. She hangs onto me through it, our hands finding each other.

It is everything just to have this. It is enough for me to just say,

“I love you, Bud.”

“I love you, too, Vespa.”

I know she means it, and me, her. Everything is fuzzy, in the nice way, and she plops back down next to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. We fall asleep holding onto one another.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd really love feedback so i can improve and write more in the future  
> shoutout to maggie i love you even if you did write .. you know.


End file.
